The rain pattered softly on the roof of the white painted porch. The earthy smell kicked up by the rain permeated the air, and a gentle breeze brought some relief to the summer heat and mugginess. A man sat in a porch swing, gently swaying to and fro as he gazed down his long gravel driveway to the unpaved county road in the distance. He loved sitting out here during a rainstorm. 

The screen door creaked open, and his wife stepped outside carrying a plate laden with a generous slice of apple pie covered in whipped cream. Her blue flowered sundress fluttered in the breeze as she came over to the swing and sat down beside him. She tucked her feet up onto the swing and scooted close. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze as she placed the plate on the top of his belly.

“I thought you might want some more dessert,” she said as her fingers found the side of his overalls where he had left them unbuttoned to give himself more space.

“Some more? This looks like a lot more,” he observed, giving her a knowing grin.

“You always find room for apple pie!” she replied.

“But I’ve already found room for thirds of dinner and that first slice of pie,” he said with a slight groan, patting his belly, careful not to knock off the plate of pie even though it had a pretty substantial shelf to rest on. He knew this would get to her.

Sure enough, he heard her breath catch, and the fingers that had been caressing his love handle suddenly dug in and squeezed. He felt his cock start to stir.

“I’ll find room if you feed it to me,” he told her.

“Deal!”

She shifted around on the seat to position herself more comfortably. With a glint in her eye, she dug the fork into the pie and lifted it towards his mouth.

“Open up,” she instructed, a husky edge to her voice.

He did as he was told, the tender spiced apples, flaky crust, and rich cream filling his mouth. An involuntary moan escaped him as he leaned back, closing his eyes and slowly chewing.

“Mmm,” he said. “You make the best apple pie.”

She laughed lightly. “You know what they say—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

He opened his eyes and gazed into hers. “You’ve had my heart and my stomach for a long time, hon,” he said. “Now feed me another bite of that pie.”

She already had the next forkful ready, and she brought it to his mouth. This one was bigger, and some of the whipped cream smeared the corner of his mouth. She leaned in close and kissed away the cream. He cupped the back of her head and turned it into a slow, lingering kiss. She tasted almost as good as the pie.

After a few moments, she pulled away and scooped another forkful of pie for him to eat. He was stuffed to bursting, but he hardly noticed. The world had faded to the sound of rain on the roof, the porch swing with the two of them on it, and her tender care and attention as she fed him the remaining bites of pie and caressed his belly.

Finally, the pie was gone, and she set aside the plate. Snuggled close to his side, she continued rubbing his belly. They stayed that way until the rain petered out and it started to get dark. She rose from the swing, and he admired the curve of her ass and hips in her sundress.

“Help me up?” he asked.

She took his hands and gave a little tug, helping him get enough momentum to heave off the swing.

“Always,” she said.

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